


The Embers Cool

by palomino333



Series: Pandora-verse [11]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Marathon Sex, Married Life, Married Sex, Pon Farr, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 05:28:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17636816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palomino333/pseuds/palomino333
Summary: Takes place between the end of The Original Series and The Wrath of Khan. Spock cleans up the damage after pon farr.Originally appeared in Spiced Peaches Zine LV.





	The Embers Cool

He was on the dining room floor.

Spock's first indicator had been the dinner table itself, which was flipped on its side.

He steadied himself from where he lay, regulating his breathing. His thoughts were difficult to unjumble, given that they had been bent out of order by his altered state. He nearly gave up the struggle, thinking it better to just leave it all be, however his discipline called him back into line. He had to try, even if it did hurt him. He had been given freedom long enough.

Steadily, Spock placed himself back into a shade of his previous mentality. It was not perfect, but it was somewhat stable. Slowly, he became aware of the softness of breath beside him. Turning his head, he came face to face with the body of a naked man beside him, who was half-turned toward him in sleep. Mentally, he grasped the thread of their bond, and gave a slight tug. "T'hy'la."

McCoy's breath quickened for a moment, but he otherwise didn't stir. Spock chose against prodding him again, understanding that his mate was exhausted. There were a few black and blue surface marks on his arms and legs, mostly from running into or pressing into something over the last few days. Spock grasped McCoy's wrist, and gently tugged it toward himself. He pressed his lips to one of the bruises and trailed them over his arm. McCoy stirred this time, turning completely toward him with a sigh. Spock let go of him, and rose to one knee, the wrinkles on his skin rippling in the weak morning light. He slipped his hands under his mate. McCoy groaned this time, mumbling something that Spock couldn't catch. He was so tired, and vulnerable, lying there utterly spent. Gold glinted on his left ring and pinkie fingers. Spock took a moment to release his grip and rub his left hand over McCoy's, his own wedding ring standing out in the light. It would eventually have to be removed again on-duty.

He would have preferred something to bundle McCoy with, however there wasn't anything else aside from a table cloth. Leonard was beginning to feel somewhat lighter, Spock noted quietly. He held the doctor more securely in his arms, feeling protective of him. He gave mind to the fact that he would need to be more careful about his mate's diet, though Leonard would rebuff any of his attempts to help him gain weight.

Subconsciously, the doctor curled in closer to his mate's chest. Being exhausted himself, he decided against traveling far with the sleeping man in his arms. Gray dawn light filtered through to them. Spock felt a chill, and was grateful for it, the fever having at last gone away.

The bed in the guest room was simple, and unkempt, the pillows and blankets having been dumped everywhere. Spock carefully placed McCoy down before tugging a pillow onto the bed. Lifting his mate's unresponsive head up, Spock placed it upon the pillow. He tugged a sheet over his McCoy's sweaty body before seeking the nearby closet for spare clothing. He placed a robe at the foot of the bed and donned another for himself. It didn't fit completely and sagged.

McCoy groaned in his sleep, his hand landing on the surface of the bed beside his face. Spock reached over and placed his hand to his husband's psi-points. McCoy was dreaming, though he appeared to be drifting from it, moving into a gray area just beneath awareness. Spock tilted his head to the side as he tried to read the reason as to why. It wasn't out of a need to urinate, rather it was out of discomfort. Spock's hand slowly moved along Leonard's leg, and felt concerned as he realized what it was.

On the stairs, he had swung one leg over McCoy, pinning him down before driving into him. McCoy had cried out into his mouth, his other hand scrabbling on the stairs. Spock's eyes widened at the cry, realizing that it was one of distress. Grasping what little sense he had, he forced himself to stop, staring at McCoy. The doctor was wincing in pain and rubbing at his leg. "Probably wasn't a very good idea," he muttered.

Spock took in a heavy breath and leaned forward to kiss slowly up his neck. "Are you able to walk?"

McCoy slowly bent his knee, his teeth gritting. With a sigh, he replied, "Stings, but I'll be okay."

Spock lowered his hands to the small of McCoy's back, and helped him to sit up. "I am sorry."

"Don't think anything of it. I'm not as young as I used to be," he replied.

Spock felt the heat continuing to burn within him as he placed his arms about the naked doctor's waist. "Perhaps a better venue is in order."

"It's no trouble," McCoy protested, "You don't have to coddle me."

"You have done more of that than has been called for, over the last few days," he replied, grasping McCoy's arms to wrap about himself as he carefully rose.

McCoy continued to mutter protests as Spock took him down the stairs to the sofa, where it was more enjoyable, on the soft surface.

Stroking the leg softly, he thought on what would be best. Leonard would not awaken for some time, and though he himself did feel tired, he could make himself useful. Glancing about the room, he gave a nod to himself, and rose. Making his way out of the room, he quietly shut the door behind himself.

The kitchen's mess was mainly a result of pots, pans, and plates lying everywhere. McCoy had been cognizant of his husband needing sustenance during pon farr, though he had been given little time to clean up. Spock noted as he cleaned the cooking utensils and dishware that he would find it satisfactory to not taste plomeek soup again for a long time. A rooster crowed somewhere off in the distance.

He didn't remember knocking the dining room table over, but he did remember lying upon it, with McCoy straddling him. He had to squint in the bright light of the room whenever McCoy moved just out of blocking range. The tablecloth was accidentally ripped, and one of the chairs was missing. Spock mentally noted the hairline crack on the bottom of the table as he up righted it.

He found the chair in the hallway, knocked on its side, and a leg broken clean off. He opted to lean it against the dining room table, for now, and proceeded back into the hallway. The wall clock was on the floor, although the glass was already swept away. He recalled, with embarrassment, McCoy grasping his flailing hand before it hit a piece of glass. "Knock it off! Here," grunting, he forced Spock to sit against the other side wall. When Spock pinned him in place by his knees, McCoy grumbled, "Fine, I'll clean it up later."

Spock took the doctor's grumblings to be more out of concern than much else.

The basement door, when he tried it, was still deadbolted from the inside. Spock nodded in satisfaction as he took his hand off the knob.

"We're considering that area off-limits," McCoy decided, his arms folded two days before the fire began to burn. Sunlight glanced off Spock's dark hair as he attempted to pull on the metal bar sealing the basement's exterior staircase double doors closed. With a nod, Spock relented, the test being successful. The basement carried too much of a risk, with the wooden stairs being positioned right by the interior cellar door, along with the descent into the house's sealed vault.

Drilling the knob out and replacing it was currently the least of their worries.

The calling card table lay split clean in half. Rummaging through the scattered papers, he grasped the copy of their orders. The Enterprise was currently undergoing a refit after its recent patrol.

Kirk had glanced between the two of them in concern. "You sure you'll be all right?"

Spock had replied to the affirmative, and McCoy had shaken his head with an annoyed expression. "Yeah, we'll be there in time to try not to get blown to bits out in space again. You won't be too bored without us, Jim?"

Kirk grinned. "I suppose I could make my own fun."

With a glance at Spock, McCoy replied in an annoyed tone of voice, "If I have to drag you out of the gutter again—"

"I don't think it'll come to that, Bones," Kirk replied with a wink.

McCoy rolled his eyes at Kirk as Spock added, "I agree, captain. It would not be beneficial to us."

"You're just as bad!" McCoy exclaimed at him.

"Could you substantiate that with an example?" Spock inquired, "I can list a few, for your case."

McCoy, finding himself at a loss for words, silently fumed. Kirk smiled. "Enjoy your time. And if you need anything," his smile slipped as he stared meaningfully at Spock, "Just call me. I'll get there as soon as I can."

Spock felt a moment of trepidation twist within himself, only for it to dissipate just as quickly. McCoy had decided not to give away that it was from him, and Spock allowed it to pass by stating, "We will."

Kirk paused a moment before turning and walking away from him. McCoy rolled out his shoulders. "It'll feel good to wear real clothes again. Eat real food."

"What we wear and eat now is real," Spock replied, unsure of what McCoy meant.

He grinned and tugged on his arm. "C'mon, let me show you what I mean."

As it turned out, Spock did find McCoy's sentiment agreeable, though he would not tell him that he preferred his own mother's cooking.

Save the mantle, the living room did not have any upright furniture. A free-standing lamp was a lost cause. The sofa was the more complicated to move, given its weight. As Spock stripped the cushions from it, he took note of the tears in the fabric from his and his husband's fingernails.

The throw rug was torn and stained, with dark hair on it. Leonard had growled deep and hissed in his throat, dragging out primal sounds Spock found fascinating as he licked and fingered his mate's hole. The fire had begun to recede then, burning lower as he explored him.

The first floor was barely contained chaos, but it would have to do, Spock noted as he circled the stairs to ascend them, his hand whispering along the metal railing of the banister. He reflected quietly on how reckless he had become, as the plak-tow had begun to burn slowly through his veins, and he found that he did not much like it. He had found it embarrassing when it had first set in, on board the Enterprise, but this, while more private, was still a darker aspect of himself that he would rather not acknowledge.

Protectiveness of one's mate was logical for survival. However, this went to a different level entirely. He'd felt shades of it, when it came to T'Pring. There was animosity he felt toward Stonn, and, by extension, his own friend, James Kirk. On a subconscious level, he must have felt shameful of it, he told himself, but his thoughts at the time had been reduced to pure simplicity.

The doctor had watched him all the while, and Spock had wondered as to what McCoy had thought of him, as primal as he was. In a way, he had wanted to know his judgment, for the doctor to see him so raw. His shame burned, and he had desired this man to be writhing under him as Kirk did in combat. He had wanted to claim Leonard and make him moan and cry out in front of T'Pring, though his better sense brought the impulse to heel. T'Pau was there, after all. The temptation, however, remained strong

And when McCoy played that trick to bring Spock back to his senses, he found that he was grateful.

He couldn't let anyone take Leonard from him. He'd nearly had that happen with so many people, already. That priestess Natira had come close, certainly. More than once, now, she filled him with ire. But no so much as those who had harmed his husband.

He would break them with his bare hands, all of them. Not one of them would lay a finger on the doctor again. They were all trying to take Leonard away from him, he knew it, to twist the human's emotions, and mentally break him. They wanted to break his body, too, and make him cry out from the pain. The doctor seemed not to understand the danger he was in. They would take him to possess and torture, to laugh at his anguish. Spock wouldn't let them, standing as a barrier between him and them.

McCoy stopped before him, his eyes glinting with annoyance. "Spock, let me leave my house, please."

Spock, however, had not an inkling to move, standing resolutely before him. The front door was closed behind him. McCoy's keys clicked as he swung them about on one finger. "Spock come on. I'm just going to the store."

"Perhaps," he replied, "but I still have reason for concern. Your fellow townspeople threatened you."

"That was decades ago," he replied evenly, "Can I go now?"

"No," Spock replied flatly, the images of what could happen to McCoy, ranging throughout the gamut of the grotesque. McCoy winced at him but continued to stand before him. "It would seem we are at an impasse," Spock commented.

"No need for it," he replied, "Just let me leave."

"Only if I may accompany you," Spock replied.

"You're not giving me a choice!" McCoy huffed. "All right, fine."

For anywhere McCoy went over the threshold, Spock was close at hand, keeping him within arm's length. McCoy grew annoyed with his shadowing and looked forward to the end of pon farr. Still, he did like showing his husband off to his friendlier neighbors, though some were still distant, given his past marriage, and his current marriage. Spock was a possessive being in the latter scenario, drifting closer to McCoy, or physically grasping him by the arm or clothing. McCoy, more than once, was prompted to roll his eyes, or attempt to shake him off. Spock, however, defended himself each time, saying it was logical to protect his mate.

"Logical, my foot," McCoy would mumble from time to time.

The master bedroom was unkempt, with blankets and pillows thrown every which way. The ceiling fan was off-kilter, and the curtains were rumpled.

McCoy had stripped off the blankets and sheets from the bed. Spock hadn't received much comfort from that. He felt as if he was continuously burning, the pain causing him to squeeze his eyes shut. His vision was blurry. His legs twisted upon the bed, his one arm sprawled before him. His penis hurt from its continuously being erect.

A cool cloth was placed to his forehead, and he groaned, muttering, "That will not help."

"It's better than nothing," McCoy replied evenly. His voice sounded somewhat weak, indicating that he was showing signs of exhaustion. "If you're too tired to move, I might as well make you comfortable."

Spock's consciousness swam, and he slowly drifted away. Unsure of how much time had passed, he awakened to a breath stirring beside him. Cloth whispered, and he flicked his eyes down to see a sheet covering his lower half, more to preserve his modesty than much else. The gesture was ultimately futile, but he didn't put it past his illogical mate. The heat continued to cloy, but it was no longer sticky.

Turning his head sideways, he saw McCoy hovering over him from where he was kneeling on his side of the bed. An open button-down shirt brushed against Spock's skin, while McCoy's lower half was covered by a pair of boxers. "You cleaned me," Spock muttered.

A hand ran through his hair. "Couldn't leave you like that," McCoy replied.

Spock hit his head back against the pillow. "I am not an invalid! Do not treat me as such."

"Oh, hell with that!" McCoy exclaimed, partially out of frustration, pressing his hand down upon the crown of Spock's head, "I am your doctor, and you are my patient. You will do as I say."

Spock turned his head to look at him, his nostrils flaring. McCoy stared back evenly at him, the fingers of one hand tapping moodily upon the surface of the bed. Spock said nothing, his breathing slowly relaxing. It hitched, however, as he felt the pain of his erection against the side of his leg.

McCoy leaned forward and cupped his cheek with one hand. Kissing his forehead, he reassured, "I'll get it."

After adjusting the curtains, he moved down the hall.

The bathroom door was ajar. A decorative plant had fallen from the windowsill and broken on the floor, leaving dirt and leaves everywhere. The towel rack lay on the floor. The sink's marble had dented from Spock bracing his weight upon it as McCoy had driven into him from behind.

A few days prior, he recalled as he got a broom to sweep up the plant, he and his husband had planned for this event there.

McCoy's hair was damp as he sat back against the rim of the tub. He lifted an arm from the water and scrubbed at it. "We probably should go over things we can't do."

"That would be wise," Spock replied from where he was perched at the edge of the closed toilet lid, his robe flowing over it. A copy of Gulliver's Travels lay on the sink's rim. McCoy had told him that he had managed to pilfer it from the guts of a twenty-second century ground car in the town junkyard as an adolescent.

"All right," lowering his arm, and grasping both sides of the tub's rim, he leaned back, "First of all, neither of us should be tied up. If you are, that'll disturb you. And if I am, I don't think I'll be able to keep control of the situation." Spock looked away, and McCoy groaned in annoyance. "Come on, Spock, I didn't mean it like that."

Spock didn't respond to that, and instead continued, "Have you any other reservations?"

"No chocolate," McCoy replied point blank.

"That should go without saying," Spock agreed. Glancing past him out the window, he commented, "I assume your neighbors aren't aware of this practice, then?"

McCoy shrugged. "Not like I get much mail, anyway. The way I see it, if we're not gallivanting around in the woods, we should be fine."

"You seem to be speaking from experience," Spock commented.

McCoy chuckled, and leaned his head back against the wall behind him. "It's a good way to get dirt and leaves in places you wouldn't want them to be in."

Spock brushed his hand up against one of his husband's, the closer to him on the tub. The skin was beginning to prune from being in the water for too long. Spock ran his hand over the lines on his fingers. McCoy had a thought about inviting him in, but decided against it, choosing instead to relax. With pon farr being so close, he did not wish to tug him into it. That aside, he would have more than enough to deal with, once the Enterprise's refit was complete. It was better to relax and enjoy the quiet.

The second bedroom was narrower, and smaller. To Spock, it was the more personal.

McCoy folded the blue comforter on his bed and patted the pillow. Glancing up at the shelf, Spock took in the view of his mate's toys. The plush horse had one eye missing, and part of its mane had fallen out. The soldiers were worn down by fingerprints. On a writing desk, covered with pen marks, lay an old key, tarnished and with a circular ring. It was at the foot of a picture. A woman was depicted there, sitting on a bench under a tree, with an old sewing needle and thread in hand. Her head was slightly raised, allowing the camera to catch her blue eyes.

McCoy didn't say anything, but Spock could see it, through his mind, as the doctor moved to the window, and stood before the seat. Folding his arms, he stared out, framed against the light. There were many days that he had passed, staring out that window. McCoy glanced back at him, the hollowness of old memories understood between them.

Spock picked up the broken shelf and placed it upon the desk. He picked up the overturned chair and wiped off the handprints upon the window's glass. McCoy's childhood room faced out toward the forest, nevertheless it had been wiser to use the window's surface at night, with only the moonlight illuminating them weakly. He had found the doctor's expressions of pleasure and ecstasy, reflected in the darkness, to be stimulating. McCoy had certainly been the most vocal then, muttering and exclaiming words and phrases that made no sense, his arm clinging to the back of Spock's neck, and his nipples and penis shamelessly exposed to the air.

McCoy had later held a finger in the air, growling, "Not a word about any of this."

Spock had merely raised an eyebrow in amusement.

Spock nudged the door open to a third bedroom. He had met McCoy's sister on a few occasions. He had found her overmuch in her emotionalism, her protectiveness of her brother most principal. Perhaps it was out of guilt, or it was something else. Nevertheless, it was none of his business, however he preferred not being able to see her so often. Her room had been converted into a generic guest room, albeit one with a more feminine bent, given the vanity.

He'd shoved McCoy against the wall and lifted the doctor's legs to straddle him upon the vanity. His sweaty hair had been plastered to his forehead, and he'd felt hot tears running down his face. Everything burned within, and the pain from it all overwhelmed him. Pleadingly, he had stared into Leonard's eyes. The pain had built fiercely within him, diminishing the pleasure to where it was almost nonexistent.

Those blue, cool eyes, however, drew him back. McCoy was gasping for Spock to look at him, and he complied. McCoy's one hand scrabbled along the rattling vanity until he at last raised it, grasping onto the side of Spock's face as he grunted and groaned from being driven into. His voice had been reduced past coherence, as well, but he had poured his essence into him, through his psi-points. Spock's breath had caught in his throat, his knees hammering against the side of the vanity. McCoy's other hand, which had grasped about Spock's hip, tightened, his eyes wide.

Spock had gasped out a breath, and lowered his head to McCoy's chest, breathing in the sweat and smells of sex. McCoy had guided him through it, whispering reassurances within Spock's mind that the fire would eventually die down. Whenever Spock had attempted to lope back into his fear of the fire consuming them both, McCoy had been him back from it. Each moment was another lived. It was miniscule, but understandable, much like the surgeries Leonard had performed on board the Enterprise.

Turning, he moved toward the stairs. Warmth stirred at the back of his mind, and he allowed himself a smile. Leonard was awaking.

"There you are," McCoy rasped from the floor below.

Rounding the banister, Spock stopped to see his mate leaning against the closed door of the guest room. The robe now hugged his body, his weight slightly off balance. Framed in the early morning light of the hall, the silvering strands of his hair stood out. His blue eyes glinted.

"I have completed my cleaning," Spock commented as he walked over to him, "I will also have to repair the house."

McCoy waved a hand. "Don't worry about it. Frankly, I'm just glad the house is still standing." Spock felt the small crackle of pain through their bond, and glanced at McCoy's leg, which he was leaning upon. McCoy chuckled. "It's sex on the stairs, Spock. Accidents happen. Worth the ride, though."

"Your flippancy is disconcerting," Spock commented, closing the distance between them.

McCoy reached up and stroked at the corner of his husband's mouth. "I knew you weren't going to hurt me. I was more concerned about the prospect of losing you."

"Your possessions," Spock commented, gesturing about.

Leonard shrugged. "They're just things."

Spock gently grasped him by the back of the head, and tugged him in. He placed a kiss on top of his head. McCoy wrapped one arm around him, while his free hand rested upon Spock's side, the Vulcan's heart beating beneath his palm.

Spock breathed into his husband's hair. "You are still tired," he commented.

McCoy grinned against his chest. "Not used to that much sex, darling."

"Then sleep," Spock replied quietly, "I will bring you something to eat."

McCoy drew back at that, jabbing him once in his side. "None of that vegetarian food."

"I suppose you have earned the indulgence," Spock agreed.

McCoy grinned, and nudged the door open with his shoulder. Turning back, however, he grasped Spock's shoulder tightly, the grin slipping. Spock's shoulders lowered as he felt the fear that McCoy had kept contained, deeply within himself, all throughout it, that he would lose him. It was fading, and Spock quietly assisted, willing it away. It was not logical to consider that possibility any longer. "It'll be easier, next time," McCoy commented.

Picking McCoy's hand off his shoulder, Spock paused to hold it between both of his hands. "Indeed."

Though it wasn't the truth, it was enough, Spock decided as he watched his mate tumble back into bed and curl up on his side again. They had another seven years of peace. Yes, he decided, as he walked away, it was better to let McCoy have this victory now.

**Author's Note:**

> Due to multiple reasons, I do not take The Motion Picture as canon. McCoy's childhood toys are from my fanfic, "Stars."
> 
> Originally appeared in Spiced Peaches Zine LV.


End file.
